


Soft Leather

by VengefulHybrid



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bondage, Collar/leash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VengefulHybrid/pseuds/VengefulHybrid





	Soft Leather

Soft leather, not tight enough to choke but tight enough to remind Spy it was there against the bare flesh of his neck. The leash attaching him to his lover was pulled taunt; the flimsy material of his mask was rolled onto the bridge of his nose where thin fibres tickled.

 _Dirty bushman._

That’s what he always called him wasn’t it? A filthy Australian that peed in jars and lived in a camper van.

 _Call me Mundy._

The name fit him, especially when it was purred in an ear.

 _Mr. Mundy…_

That filthy, beautiful Australian cock was buried inside him. Inches of twitching flesh pounding inside him, moving in a rhythm only Sniper and Spy could hear. Sniper twisted another handful of leash around his hand and pulled, bringing Spy up onto his knees. His teeth fastened on the flesh of the Frenchman’s shoulder. He wouldn’t pierce the skin, not yet. Those sharp teeth sent flashes of white through the back of Spy’s eyes. He fancied he could feel every ridge and bump along those beautifully misshapen teeth.

Spy felt sick and overjoyed and dizzy all at once and every thrust inside him brought those white flashes closer and closer together until his vision was just one big blinding light and _he couldn’t breathe._

The white flashes became grey fuzz. His pinprick vision turned monochrome. Sniper’s teeth broke skin but he couldn’t feel it; not the dull trickle down his chest and into the black hair that peppered it, not the way Sniper’s breath became laboured against the back of his neck or the way it disturbed the fine wisps of hair there.

Splintered wood scraped under his already bloody fingernails _(when had he been pushed forward again?)_ and suddenly Spy could breathe again. Life returned to his system, pounding heart desperately pushing oxygenated blood as far and as fast as it could. It followed that silent rhythm.

Only with a sense of quiet completion was Spy allowed to fall to the floor, strength sapped from his wiry limbs. Behind him, Sniper reclined and heaved himself onto the ratty mess of a bed- the only comfortable thing in the room- before poking Spy with the tip of a toe.

Spy turned his head enough to give the ( _filthy_ ) bushman a look. It spoke volumes in minute detail, pages as thin as a hair’s breadth. And Sniper skim read every single one of them, somehow managing to miss every important crucial little plot developing detail. Spy was not amused.

He was even less amused when Sniper called him a _good dog_. He pushed to his tingling feet and unbuckled that soft leather collar, tossed it carelessly at Sniper and rolled his mask down. He lit a cigarette and sat next to the Australian to watch the tendrils of smoke caress the ceiling. Sniper took one of them too and they lapsed into soft silence, waiting for the feeling to come back to Spy’s legs.


End file.
